Unconditionally
by alotofmillion
Summary: Kurt and Blaine, a newly married couple, take the next plunge: starting a family. Pure and unadulterated fluff. Future!fic


Inspired by a whole lot of ugly sobbing on Tumblr over daddy!Darren and daddy!Klaine. This is the story of how I see it and almost a headcanon. You have been warned.

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><p>Kurt and Blaine had only been married eight months before the idea of children was locked in.<p>

It had been a long engagement, seven years in fact, before they'd taken the plunge and walked down the aisle. At first, they were teased incessantly for not setting a date, but in between internships, graduations, job opportunities, job setbacks, moving apartments, going for a Master's, breaking up for a short stint, coming back together, and eventually buying an apartment, the years seemed to lose themselves and blend into one great big blob.

It was a particularly cold day in January when Blaine brought up the idea of starting a family. They had a two bedroom flat on the Upper West Side, big for New York standards and certainly big enough to raise a child. Leaving New York really wasn't an option; there was simply no way either one of them would leave their jobs and move to the suburbs and commute. New York was a part of them as much as they were part of each other, and escaping the claustrophobia of Western Ohio had transformed them in a million and one ways.

Blaine always knew he had the stuff to be a father, and he'd never considered his sexuality a setback. He had the empathy and the compassion to raise a kid up right and show them the love they deserved. He had dreams and aspirations of taking his boy to little league or teaching him to shave or walking his daughter down the aisle or holding his first grandchild. That had always been at the forefront of his mind, and although it _terrified_ him, the idea of messing his children up as much as his parent's had, he knew if he had half a conscious about worrying, he would be all right.

Kurt, on the other hand, wasn't so confident.

Sure, Kurt knew he was capable of loving someone unconditionally. He had his dad and Carole and even Finn, and then of course there was the memory of his mother. As for Blaine, well, Blaine was in a whole other category.

No, it wasn't love. Kurt knew he could love. Truthfully, Kurt hadn't pined for children quite the way Blaine had. Sure, they were fine to look at and occasionally fawn over. And sure, he'd even enjoyed interacting with Tina and Mike's kids at McKinley's ten year reunion (which Blaine had begrudgingly dragged him to). But kids were needy. Kids were dirty. Kids threw tantrums in Target when they didn't get a Skipper doll or god awful Transformer.

And god knows, Kurt wasn't quite ready to baby proof the apartment and set up a trust fund for their son or daughter's future college fund or even picture himself twenty years down the line, older and middle aged and already planning his own pension. Sure, he knew it was coming, but it didn't mean he pined for it.

But then there was Blaine sitting at the table, his hands folded over Kurt's in a loving, domestic manner, telling him that all he really dreamed of was a little girl with Kurt's cheeks or a son with eyes big enough to make all the girls (or boys) swoon. And that he was terrified, too, but with Blaine's teaching job and Kurt's now less erratic schedule at the fashion house, they could finally settle down and make it _real_. The timing couldn't be more perfect, he said, and Kurt had nodded his head, lost in his own thoughts.

Kurt had tried to say something, deter his overeager husband, or pull him down from the cloud, but Blaine just looked at him with these big, beautiful eyes, hazel and longing and absolutely heartfelt, and Kurt said yes and he could barely say another word because Blaine was pulling him to his feet and crushing him into a hug. And Kurt's heart swelled, because _oh god_, Blaine was so happy, the happiest he'd seen him since the wedding day, and who was he to take this away from him?

Because loving someone is about making sacrifices.

But then, starting a family with Blaine wasn't really a sacrifice, and that's what Kurt had to keep telling himself as they met with specialists and doctors and potential surrogates and set up a personal loan because, good lord, apparently in vitro is _expensive_. They didn't really argue over the "paternal father" aspect because both were advised to _actively_ _participate_, as the doctor's worded it, to up their chances of fertilization, which sounded more like growing crops than growing a baby.

Blaine was a mess, an absolute mess, and it didn't help when the first two times didn't take. He blamed himself, of course, because _a year_ had passed since the initial idea at the dinner table and they were getting close to their second anniversary. And all Blaine really talked about was wanting a baby by Christmas, but clearly, that wasn't going to happen. Kurt tried to comfort his husband in the dark hours of the night, holding him and patting down his hair and telling him that they'd figure something out.

They didn't expect to get the phone call from their doctor, informing them – all of three of them, including their surrogate, a young girl named Rebecca who was going for her Master's at NYU – to come immediately.

Because you don't expect urgent calls from doctors unless it's bad news.

And it was very bad news.

Genetics, they called it. _Possibly_ genetics, at least, or a hormonal imbalance, or the universe taking one big giant dump on the sweetest man in the world. Either way, Blaine couldn't have kids, or… _probably_ couldn't. Probably, they'd said, because while they wouldn't rule it out all the way, but they weren't taking any more risks.

Blaine had cried, of course. He hadn't wanted to; he'd wanted to stay strong. But at the end of the day, he'd sobbed and balled his fists and wanted to be left alone, but with Kurt around, that wasn't possible. He'd apologized left and right because it was stupid, it was stupid to want something you could never have, but Kurt had kissed his hair and told him they'd try again, they'd try as many times as they had to because the doctors said they were was still a chance.

But Blaine had shaken his head "no," his curls dried to his forehead and his cheeks flush and pink. Kurt was even more terrified then, but all the more determined to give Blaine Anderson what he wanted, a son or a daughter. And it didn't matter if they came out looking like a turnip or hated Kurt or wailed at all hours of the morning. The reality that their child would be _his_ struck him in ways he hadn't anticipated, just like loving Blaine had.

Because when you love someone unconditionally, certain things in life don't matter as much.

By sheer luck or some cruel joke, the first in vitro had taken. Blaine had laughed and cried at the same time, because it was wonderful and awful that something so easy could come to them had they just known sooner. And Kurt, well, Kurt was a hot mess of emotions – relieved for Blaine, stunned at the idea becoming of a father, and even excited because, _holy shit_, they were becoming dads. And somehow, in the last two years, that had become _fine_. No, better than fine.

They'd agreed on just one. Blaine had always wanted two, but with the risk involved and the fact that Blaine could no longer participate, one was fine for them. Fostering or adopting was always an option, too, but Molly – after Blaine's mother, once they'd learned the sex – was the ultimate priority.

Everything seemed to fall in place, from the conversion of Blaine's office into a nursery to the showering of pink _everything_. It made Kurt's brow crinkle in disgust as they'd clearly chosen a neutral palette for the nursery to off-shoot any overly feminine generalizations. Blaine had nudged him in the ribs and smiled and told him to _be thankful_, as Molly would be growing out of those obscenely pink onesies in no time.

Rebecca was two weeks early and sitting for dinner at the Anderson-Hummel residence, admiring Kurt's impeccably salted sweet potato casserole, when she felt a sharp jerk and nearly bowled out of her chair in pain. Kurt immediately dialed 911 as Blaine knelt on the floor, attempting to calm her down, when all he wanted to do was shake with fear. He was thankful, at least, that he could eventually be in the delivery room as Kurt's husband with no scuttle.

Twenty-seven hours, they'd clocked it, nearly to the dot. The baby was under stress, their doctor had said, her heart rate elevated, and a cesarean section was recommended. But Kurt knew a surgeon when he saw one and, much to Blaine's surprise, insisted that Rebecca stay away from the knife as long as possible.

At the twenty-ninth hour, Molly Elizabeth Anderson-Hummel came wailing into the world, wrinkled and stressed and looking very much like a turnip, but the most beautiful turnip Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson had ever seen. Swaddled and tiny, they placed her into Kurt's arms and Kurt touched his cheek as with the back of his hand as a lone tear slid down his cheek. She had his nose and clearly his temper, which Blaine was more than clear to point out amid loud guffaws from the nurses.

And before long, he was capturing Blaine in a kiss. No one seemed to care, not really, and even if they had, neither would have paid any mind. Kurt kissed Rebecca on the forehead as Blaine fawned over the baby, who was eventually plucked away to assess. She was underweight and being kept an extra day or two for a myriad of tests and evaluations, although she was expected to be fine. Still, just the thought of prods and needles and tubes drove both up a wall, and neither intended to sleep. At four the next morning, both of them trudged back to their apartment in any attempt to rest.

But Kurt was wide awake, his arms wrapped around himself because their baby was supposed to be home with them that next day, not spending an extra night in a cold, dark hospital. He didn't have to say an extra word as Blaine let him be the little spoon, whispering soft reassurances into his hair and kissing the back of his warm neck.

That night, Kurt had finally confided in his husband, running the gambit of emotions because they were coming up on their third year of marriage, and communication is _important_. At first, Blaine was alarmed and even offended that Kurt hadn't said anything, but he didn't have to worry for long as Kurt segued into plights of missing his mother and needing to see his dad more and loving their kid so much that it was obscene. Blaine laughed when Kurt confided that he'd even take her to Target to pick out a bike or a Cabbage Patch doll or a DVD, and that none of that mattered anymore, not in the scheme of things, although he'd never dress his daughter in Mossimo, not ever.

"Well," Blaine had told him. "Some things matter, you know."

And with that, Blaine was rolling him back and lifting his chin and kissing him again, really kissing him with teeth and tongue, because there they were as husbands and fathers and grown men. Where had the time gone? When had that transformed from lovestruck, frightened teenagers to grown, competent men? And how had they done it all together, never losing sight of the big picture, even before Kurt could truly anticipate what the big picture was?

In the scheme of things, this was it. This and the life they'd built for themselves as friends then lovers then partners then husbands then so much more. And Kurt knew, even if he lived in a shanty house on Staten Island in last season's clothes and a standard nine to five job, he'd be okay. _They'd_ be okay. Everything would be okay. Because life was perfect and nothing was taking that away from him.


End file.
